Love Me Not
by smalley07
Summary: "We're always okay. This year won't be any different." - When Maysilee Donner is reaped for the 50th Hunger Games, she knows there's little chance of getting out of the arena alive, but she hasn't planned on Haymitch, the stoic if hostile boy from the Seam, and the survival instinct buried deep inside her. Humanity or survival? There's only room for one in the Hunger Games.
1. Chapter 1

I stare at the vase of flowers on my dresser, a collection of brilliant blue forget-me-nots, only slightly brown after two days in my room. They should be called love-me-nots, considering they were given to me by Royal. I almost gag at the thought of him. His too perfect golden hair, neatly combed back. Pale skin from days spent indoors. Forget-me-not blue eyes.

If Daddy wasn't so determined I marry a nice, rich boy I would dump Royal in a second. He's too self-assured and self-centered and selfish.

Love-me-not is right.

The door softly opens and Marigold pokes her head in. Her blonde hair is just starting to frizz out, and under the dim lights of the house, it almost looks like a halo encircling her head. I pat the bed beside me, and she gallops towards me, bouncing a few times before settling in beside me.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

I smirk. "Thinking about Royal."

"Ugh. Why would you do that?"

"I was just looking at the love-me-nots he gave me." I say defensively as I unfurl my hair from its braid. I fluff it a few times with my fingers, relishing in the feel of soft golden locks against my fingers.

"Forget-me-nots, Maysi."

"What?" I whirl around again to face Marigold.

"They're called forget-me-nots." Marigold repeats slowly.

"Same difference." I mutter, shooting another glance at the blue flowers. The note from Royal is still hanging loosely around the neck of the glass vase, anchored there by a bright yellow ribbon. "Nervous about tomorrow?" I ask, eager to change the subject from my arranged relationship.

"A little bit. I know we probably won't get picked, but still. That boy a few years back got reaped, and his name was only in there two times." She sighs heavily. "I just wish we could get this stupid thing over with already."

I nod. I hate this time of year. Watching all those kids die is horrid. Sometimes, whenever the Games are going on, I have nightmares where I'm the one in the arena, facing the wrath of a bloodthirsty tribute. And this year it will be worse. For the Quarter Quell, the Capitol is reaping twice as many kids for the game which means twice as many will die and twice as many nightmares for me.

This is me and Marigold's fourth year of having a chance of getting reaped, but Marigold still gets close to tears whenever Viola Fox reaches her manicured hand into the huge glass sphere on reaping day. I slip my hands into Marigold's and stare at her until she looks at me with her wide innocent eyes. Even though we're twins I've always thought of Marigold as my little sister. She's too young and childlike to be anything else.

"We'll be all right. We always are." I tell her. She nods solemnly. I can see her rolling the words around in her head, extracting the minimal comfort promise. I just hope I'm right.

Marigold gives me a tiny smile before wrapping her skinny arms around me. "Thanks, Maysi." she whispers in my ear. We stay like that for a long time, leaning on each other and feeling the breath of our sister brush against our face. I stroke Marigold's hair in soft even brushes, separating tangles of hair with my fingers. We're always okay. This year won't be any different.

Finally, Marigold curls her arms back against her sides and bounces out my door, her blue eyes still worried, but less terrified.

"Night Maysi." she says.

"Night Marigold." I yell back, but she's already gone, trotting down the hallway to her room in her flowing white nightgown.

I swing my feet over the bed and walk to my door. As I reach out my arm to close it, my eye catches a flash of blue. The forget-me-nots. Love-me-nots. Whatever.

I stand there, staring, and think about all the people in my life. Little Marigold, our friend, the beautiful Daisy, that stuck up snob, Royal, Mom and Daddy. I wonder if they will all remember me once I'm dead and gone. I wonder if they're still love me. Or not.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning I wake up early and slip downstairs before anyone else is up, my silver flute in hand. I play it whenever I'm nervous. The crystalline notes whirl around in my head and eventually everything else evaporates away.

The back door is unlocked so its easy for me to escape into the garden unnoticed. All the flowers still wear beads of dewdrops around their necks like pearl necklaces. I pass the rose garden with its carefully followed boundaries. That's how Mom likes her world, carefully ordered and organized. Everything has its place. Every rose is perfectly posed. Not a single thorn exists amongst the colorful petals.

My own section of the garden, the part Daddy gave me for my eleventh birthday, is all the way in the back where the sound of the fountain's mechanical gurgling gives way to more natural sounds. The swish-swish of leaves rustling in the wind. The gentle chirping of the mockingjays overhead.

The first thing I did when Daddy gave the garden to me was to rip out all the perfect roses by their roots and replace them with wild daisies and evening primroses and forget-me-nots, all the flowers I love for their slight imperfections. From there I let them grow wild so that now, five years later, the blooms curl around the cobblestone path and climb up the fence and wrap themselves around the stone bench so tightly nothing short of a knife will free them.

I pose myself on the stone bench and place my fingers along the keys of my flute. Everything is silent this morning. Not even a breeze disturbs the quiet still air. I form my lips into a perfect O and blow into the beautifully crafted mouthpiece.

Immediately, a warm trill escapes the horn and I begin to move my fingers along the warm metal, slowly at first, then faster and faster until my fingers are moving in a rapid blur, making up notes and rhythms as they go. I'm so immersed in the flowing melody I don't even hear Marigold until she's standing in front of me.

"Mom says you need to get ready." Marigold informs me. She's already dressed in a white skirt and lavender blouse, but her hair is a wild mess.

I sigh heavily into the flute, halting the music abruptly, but I get up and easily weave my way back through the garden with Marigold. Mom is waiting at the back door, her hair and makeup already done.

"Maysilee, where have you been? The reaping's in an hour, and you still have to get ready." She ushers me up the stairs and to my door before disappearing back into her room to primp herself some more.

There's a dress already picked out for me, hanging on the back of my door. Usually it would annoy me that Mom still tries to dress me, but the dress is one of my favorites, a light blue number that matches my eyes. I pull it over my head. Then, I pull my hair back with a matching silk ribbon. With my hair in a tight ponytail, my face looks young and innocent. I think of Marigold with her big blue eyes and smile.

"Marigold, are you ready?" I yell down the hallway.

"Maysilee, my goodness! Stop screaming!" Mom shouts beyond her closed door. I roll my eyes and push Marigold's door open. She's sitting on her own bed, picking at a loose thread on her purple shirt nervously.

"Ready?" I ask. "We're supposed to meet Daisy in a few minutes."

"I guess." she sighs. I pull my lips back in a smile as she takes my hand into her cold one. I lead her downstairs and into the crisp morning air.

The sun is just beginning to melt the ebony sky into a beautiful azure blue, but everybody is already up, dressed in their finest clothes and heading towards the square. I clutch Marigold's hand tighter, seeing all the haggard looks, the kids staring at the glass spheres in the square with fear in their eyes. There's too much sadness on reaping day. If I could, I would bury myself under the covers until the whole Hunger Games were over.

Daisy is waiting for us in front of Daddy's sweetshop. She's wearing a deep green dress filled with frothy white lace almost the same shade as her fine porcelain skin. She smiles when she sees us, the motion causing a blush to rise in her cheeks. I pull my own lips back in what I hope is a smile and wave her over.

"Happy Hunger Games." Daisy calls out, the fake cheer in her voice edging on squeakiness. She rolls her eyes skyward before stepping up next to Marigold and clasping her other hand.

The square is already packed when we arrive. People are squirming around uncomfortably, watching Viola Fox trot around the stage in preparation with obvious disdain. Somewhere the squall of a baby rises above the hushed murmurings of the crowd.

Daisy, Marigold, and I wedge ourselves into the crowd of sixteen year olds just in time to see Viola Fox lunge for the microphone, causing her magenta streaked hair to flap away from her face in neon tendrils.

"Happy Hunger Games!" she squeals into the microphone, and the crowd instantly hushes and turns towards Viola. "And as we say in the Capitol, may the odds be ever in your favor! Now here's Mayor…" She pauses, and her powdered face scrunches up with the effort of remembering Mayor Bird's name. Finally, she gives up and continues, "To tell you about the history of the Games."

Mayor Bird steps up to the podium and prattles about Panem and the Dark Age and the Games for a while before reading off the names of past victors from District 12. We have only one, a lady named Bex Mitchell, who won her Games almost thirty years ago. She stands up from her chair onstage when the mayor reads her name, but she doesn't smile or wave and plops back down almost immediately.

Finally, the mayor plods back to his own seat, and Viola Fox wraps her manicured hands back over the microphone.

"Now for the exciting part." Viola says. "The reaping of the tributes! Ladies first!" She crosses to the first of the glass spheres and plunges her hand into the collection of paper strips before clenching her fist around one and pulling it back out.

The crowd draws in a collective breath. I squeeze Marigold's hand and mouth my promise to her again. "We'll be okay. We're always okay."

"Rocky Cross." Viola calls out.

The crowd watches in silence as a girl with the olive skin tone and gray eyes of the Seam walks onstage. Even from so far away I can see the quiver in her hands.

"Poor girl." Daisy whispers. I nod.

Viola Fox reaches her hand in again and unfolds the second slip of paper with slow precise care.

"Maysilee Donner."

My head whips up at the sound of my name, but I don't move. I can't. Marigold is squeezing me hard, sobbing into my shoulder. Her wails are piercing my ears so thoroughly I almost don't hear Viola call my name again. I force her fingers apart and step out of Marigold's suffocating embrace.

"Maysi!" she screams and attempts to snake her arms around me again. I push her forcefully away.

"No, Marigold. I have to go." I say, but she's still sobbing hysterically and trying to cling to me. Daisy steps between us and pushes Marigold behind her.

Her blue eyes are filling with tears, but she still chokes out a strangled "Go."

I take a deep breath and step forward, towards Viola Fox's bright smile, but all I can think of are those stupid words, meaningless and well-intentioned, but still such a straight forward lie. We are not going to be okay. We will never be okay again.


End file.
